


The Moon Between

by dat_heichou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hint of minor character death, Hurt/Comfort, I tried to not make it too graphic, M/M, Vampires, Witches, childhood friend au, there's no "on screen" violence but it is briefly mentioned, wound care/ blood loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dat_heichou/pseuds/dat_heichou
Summary: "Marco's heart aches with too many feelings.  Joy at finding his best friend back, but so much fear that he’ll lose him again.  Confusion as to where he’s gone, concern about the people after him.  Stronger than all the other emotions is the pure hope that somehow he can help Jean get through this and they can be as close as they were before."Over the years, Marco has grown used to the hole in his heart where his best friend should be.  When they're suddenly reunited, he'll do whatever he can to keep Jean safe and back in his life.  But Jean's suddenly keeping secrets from him and keeps insisting he's dangerous to have around.  Will Marco realize that his best friend is more than human?
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020





	The Moon Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mashhic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mashhic/gifts).



> Happy New Year Mashhic!
> 
> You wanted a werewolf au with Marco being a source of comfort for Jean. I hope I delivered! (Also I hope you're okay with some hurt before the comfort, because this story truly got away from me.)
> 
> Thanks for the mods of the Exchange keeping the jeanmarco love going. I always look forward to this every year. :)
> 
> I really loved writing this. I haven't written like this in a long time and it felt like magic having the story build itself as I kept writing. So thanks for the inspiration! I'm not sure I would have chosen to write about werewolves on my own. Honestly, its been so fun I want to write even more of this universe one day.
> 
> (p.s thanks to my two close friends who were there for me as I basically narrated the entire writing process and asked for ideas when I was stuck. the true mvps)

For as long as Marco can remember, he and Jean had always been together. They met as toddlers in the sandbox of the local park. From how their parents retold it, Jean had sat down upon Marco’s marvelous sand masterpiece-- what he imagined as the beginning of a fortress but was really only a wide mound of sand rapidly spilling down the sides. When Marco had burst into tears, Jean had just pushed the sand back together with his hands and insisted they make it bigger together.

His mom has pictures upon pictures of them filling the sandbox with their little mountains. The marvelous mountains they thought they were creating were nothing more than lumps of sand, but the wide smiles on their faces hint at the world they believed they were creating.

And after that, their friendship was guaranteed.

They both lived close to the park, so they ended up playing on many of the same days. The sandbox was their favorite place, where they would either make their little mountains, dig as deep as they could, or grab sticks to draw pictures in the sand. 

Jean was always more fond of digging than anything else, so they started a game of looking for something cool to bury as treasure that they could try to dig up during their next play day. As far as Marco could remember, they found all of their buried trinkets except for one, a fist sized rock that was oddly shaped like a heart--or a butt, as Jean liked to refer to it as. Marco always argued that it was a heart.

The day they had gone to dig up the heart shaped --“Jean, stop calling it a butt”-- rock, they had barely gotten to the sandbox before it had started raining. Just when they were sure that their fun adventure was over, Linda Kirstein had smiled and asked, “Maybe Marco could come over for a playdate? Then you two can play inside.”

From then on, they were absolutely inseparable. If they weren’t at the park, they were at each other’s houses. When school started, they always found a way to push their desks together, so that they could be paired for group assignments, regardless of any teacher’s attempt at alphabetical order.

They were best friends and the whole town knew it. One was never seen far without the other. Adults would tease that they were more like twins than friends, with how close they acted and their occasional matching clothes. Sometimes, too young to understand what exactly a twin was, that’s how they would refer to each other when meeting new people. Even once they knew they weren’t twins, the locals would refer to them as “the twins,” making them both groan in embarrassment.

“It’s cute!” Maria Bodt promised, as she framed a photo of the two from Halloween that year. They had gone as Buzz and Woody from Toy Story--matching costumes were usually a given. “The whole town knows just how good of friends you are. It’s precious.”

Even the other kids in town had quickly learned that the best way to play with them was as a joined pair. After the first disastrous game of kickball where Jean threw a ball directly at Eren’s face and hit Armin instead, they would only play games if they could be on the same team. “I don’t want to play with just Jean anyway,” Eren had complained, “He’s more annoying when Marco’s on the other team.”

Jean had always had a harder time making new friends out of the two of them. He often told Marco, “I have you, why do I need them?” and would mope when Marco gave away too much of his attention. As the years passed, Jean was able to find other kids he liked enough to get along with, but his competition with Eren never seemed to get any better. 

Even as Jean and Marco got older, their close friendship never seemed to weaken. If anything, all the years together let them know each other even better. Marco could tell when Jean was getting angry without even looking and Jean could tell when Marco was overwhelmed by just the sound of his voice.

They never thought to keep secrets from each other; sharing everything they could think of. Jean told Marco about every girl he found pretty, about every time Mikasa looked at him or spoke to him. Marco told him that he thought boys were cuter than girls and Jean just agreed that boys could be cute too, but Mikasa was probably still the prettiest.

Of all the conversations they had over the years, Marco never asked about Jean’s dad. Jean never brought him up, so Marco just assumed that he wasn’t around. Even when Marco cried about his own parent’s divorce, Jean never tried to commiserate about his dad leaving. He just squeezed him in a hug and told him that whatever happened, he would be there for him.

And they were there for each other. With the exception of a day marked once every month on the Kirstein calendar for their “family night,” they hung out every day and took turns sleeping at the other’s house every night.

When they got too old for trick or treating, Halloween became yet another sleepover night. One Halloween night in particular has been stuck in Marco’s memories for years. They were thirteen and Jean had been flipping through the channels when he found a movie that had just been starting.

“ _An American Werewolf in London_?” Marco asked, as the movie started, “Isn’t your mom going to be mad if she sees us watching something rated R?”

“Ma’s busy answering the door for trick or treaters, she won't bother us.” The look on Jean’s face was too serious for just a movie and Marco found himself a little uneasy. _Maybe he had gotten into a fight with her?_ he wondered.

The movie opened with two friends traveling in the dark English countryside and Marco found his unease churning in his stomach. Jean had always been more interested in horror movies than he was, but something about Jean’s solemness and the movie itself made Marco even more nervous.

Marco never made it to the end of the movie. The moral questions and suspense kept Marco interested, but the gore was too much for him. The werewolf transformation was the final straw, making him gag from the crunching noises and the agonizing screaming and groaning as the man’s skin stretched and distorted. Logically he knew it was all acting, make up, and special effects, but sitting in the dark it somehow felt real and horrifying. Even worse, when Marco glanced over at his friend, Jean was staring unblinkingly at the screen with a furrowed brow, like he was taking notes or something. None of the other horror movies they’ve seen have ever made his best friend look like that. If anything, it was more similar to the face Jean had when comparing their homework answers. Suddenly, Marco couldn't take it anymore and he ran to the bathroom. 

He was trying to calm his breathing, not entirely sure why he was so upset, when he heard a knock a few minutes later.

“You okay?”

Marco took one final deep breath before he popped the door open. “I’m fine, it was just a lot.” He couldn't help but feel embarrassed by the redness of his eyes, knowing that his friend could easily tell that the movie freaked him out enough to make him cry.

In his own vein of kindness, Jean didn’t acknowledge his tears. Instead, he just shrugged and held up the remote as an offering. “I found another channel that had _The Corpse Bride_ on. Want to watch that instead?”

“But you were still watching the werewolf one.”

Jean just shrugged, all hints of his strange focus from earlier gone. “I know how it ends anyway. Come on, we never got around to making popcorn.”

Marco found himself smiling as his best friend led him to the kitchen. Jean always did know how to cheer him up.

* * *

It was sudden when Jean left. The day before, Marco had spent the whole day with him for Jean’s sixteenth birthday, hanging out at the arcade before watching the newest superhero movie in theaters. They had originally planned a sleepover at Marcos’ house, but then Mrs. Kirstein called and asked Jean to come home.

“We can just do it tomorrow,” Jean had promised with a smile, holding the leather wallet Marco gave him tightly in his hands. He didn’t know why his mom had called him home, but it wasn’t too unusual so they didn’t think anything of it.

But the next day they were gone.

There hadn’t been any hints or talks of moving at all. Just one day he was there, like every day before that, then the next his house was empty and Jean and Linda Kirstein were gone.

At least no one else seemed to have known they were leaving. Not Marco’s parents, their neighbors, not even their teachers. No one expected them to leave and no one knew where they had gone.

“They’d have to have been in trouble, right? To just suddenly leave like that?” Marco had asked his mom, trying his best not to panic. Jean had made _plans_ with him. Jean would have told him if he knew they were leaving. There’s no way he wouldn’t. “Shouldn’t we call the police or something? Maybe someone’s after them!”

“I know you’re worried, sweetheart, but I’m sure they’re fine.” Despite her calm words, Maria had had a frown on her face that made Marco even more uneasy. 

“How can you know that? Isn’t the whole thing really weird?!” Marco’s voice cracks and for once in his adolescence he’s not even embarrassed by it, too concerned about the sudden disappearance of his best friend.

“I… just do.” His mother’s face turned oddly blank, like she was withholding something from him, but no matter how he asked, she won’t tell him more.

And just like that, Jean was gone.

* * *

To say that Marco was heartbroken would be an understatement. Since he had met Jean when he was three, he had never been alone for long. Now, it was too quiet. He was constantly checking his phone and his mailbox, almost paranoid that he’d miss something. He was certain that one day Jean would reach out and explain what was going on. But there were no texts, no emails, no letters. He was gone and Marco just had to keep moving.

He graduated high school as class president, his senior year full of more school functions than ever because he had to just keep moving, keep himself busy, so the aching loneliness wouldn’t incapacitate him. His other friends walked on eggshells. It was even more depressing that their town was so small; everyone knew how close they were; everyone knew about how Jean suddenly left him behind.

It was common sense that Marco had to leave for college. There were too many pitying glances, too many people who knew the pain in his heart. So he moved across the country to the biggest college he could get a scholarship from. Marco has always been a people person and for once he craves the anonymity of a large group over a smaller, more personal one.

And yet here he was, returning to his home town again four years later, still fighting the hope of seeing a familiar face. Being haunted by his best friend’s familiar smile, beautiful eyes, and comforting hands made his heart ache more, knowing he’d never find them.

But getting a job out of college was harder than he ever expected, so he decided to save up money by moving back home for a few years. He’d been lucky enough to get the occasional freelance assignments for the local paper while working in _Ilse’s,_ a local diner. Not at all where he saw himself in life, but it was something.

It’s a Tuesday night at 11 p.m. when his new normal starts to change. The bell above the door rings as Marco’s wiping down tables. It’s a slow night; Bertholdt is in the back and Annie’s already beginning the closing checklist, so Marco is the only one up front.

“Welcome, I’ll be right with you,” he calls from behind the booth, poking his head up to get a quick glance at the customer. “I do need to let you know that we’re closing in a half hour, though.” Marco quickly finishes with the tabletop and stands to get a better glance at the thin figure waiting at the empty counter. It’s not someone he’s seen in the diner before. His black leather jacket is well worn around the elbows and his jeans look more torn than fabric. Despite the obvious wear on his clothing, his hair seems recently bleached and cut. 

Marco briefly admires the man’s neatly shaved undercut as he get closer. His own hair could definitely use a touch up. Jean had talked him into an undercut back in high school, and his hair is one thing he hasn’t been able to change. No, he’s not trying to be easily recognizable, he just likes it, okay?

“I’ll just take a burger medium rare, fries, and an ice water to go. I don’t want to hold you all up.” The voice is deep and rumbles pleasantly in Marco’s ears. He wouldn’t mind hearing the man talk a little more, honestly. There’s something in his voice that Marco finds oddly comforting, like a voice you hear on the radio every night.

Marco writes the order down on his notepad before tearing it off and clipping it to their old fashioned pulley system to send it to the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about us, you can eat here if you want.” Marco smiles as he types in the prices in the equally old fashioned register. A single customer near closing isn’t _too_ bad. It’s not like he seems loud or rowdy.

The fact that he’s wearing sunglasses at night is more than a little surprising though. Is he some sort of minor celebrity or something? His voice _does_ sound a little familiar now that Marco thinks about it. Maybe that’s why he wants to hear it more.

“To go is fine, don’t want to make you reclean your tables.” God, even the man’s laugh is familiar in a way that makes Marco’s heart ache. As the man reaches to hand over his cash out of an absolutely ancient leather wallet falling apart at the seams, Marco can’t help but glance at the way his sleeve rides up his forearm.

Tattooed down the inside of his arm are simple black shapes of the moon phases, traveling down to his wrist. Around the shape of the full moon, there are a pair of constellations, one on either side.

“I like your tattoo,” Marco smiles, as he puts the cash into the register and starts counting his change.

“Thanks,” the guy laughs awkwardly before he slides his sleeve back down. Before Marco can apologize for making him uncomfortable, Bertholdt places the boxed up meal on the counter.

Marco passes over the carry out container and a paper cup of water to the customer, still wondering how to fix the sudden awkwardness.

“Thanks Marco. Have a nice night.” The man gives Marco a soft grin that tugs at his memory as he takes the offered food out of his hands.

It takes Marco a moment to resettle himself enough to call, “Goodnight!” as the man slips out the door. Wearing a name tag and having strangers read it never gets any less startling, no matter how long he works customer service.

He gives the counter a final wipedown before doing a final sweep. Marco is finishing sweeping under the last table when he hears the broom clatter against something underneath. A square of plastic comes flying out to bounce against his shoe. His own name greets him and sure enough, the pin backing of his name badge finally broke, probably during their dinner rush when he was too busy to notice. Marco puts it in his pocket so he’ll remember to get it fixed before his next shift.

It’s only as he crawls into bed that night that he remembers that the man in the leather jacket somehow knew his name.

* * *

His mystery man comes back to _Ilse’s_ nearly every night after that. He always has his sunglasses on, occasionally with a hooded sweatshirt and a black face mask too. It’s a little unsettling, but the guy is pretty nice and has a tendency to shove twenties in the tip jar, so Marco doesn’t worry too much. He’s got a huge freelance deadline coming up, so he really doesn’t have enough time to think about much else, especially not mysterious attractive strangers.

The night after his assignment is due, Marco is surprised that his stranger doesn’t come to the diner. He hates that he’s disappointed. He doesn’t say more than a few words at a time to the guy, but all the same he was looking forward to it. As he walks home that night, he can’t help but stare up at the full moon. He finds himself thinking of the tattoo of the moon phases and wonders if that has something to do with mystery man’s absence. “Hmm, maybe he’s stargazing or something? It’s a beautiful, clear night,” Marco mumbles to himself.

As he locks the door behind himself, the howl of a wolf echoes in the distance. Oddly enough, it almost sounds sad.

* * *

The man doesn’t show up for the next few days either. Honestly, Marco begins to wonder if he left town, feeling a little disappointed. It doesn’t make sense, but something about the odd man’s presence was comforting. 

When he does come back, Marco is startled enough to drop a tray of dirty dishes in the middle of the dining area. The other customers glance over at the commotion, but Marco can only stare at the fresh bruises and gashes on the man’s face.

“Annie, watch front for me,” Marco calls out, gently grabbing the man’s arm and leading him back to the office without stopping to think. Surprisingly, the man doesn’t even comment about it and just silently follows, letting Marco hold onto his wrist as him as he leads the way.

No one’s supposed to be in the office besides employees, but Marco doesn’t care, too worried about getting out the first aid kit they keep in the solid mahogany desk.

He sits the man down in the hard wooden desk chair, noticing his slight wince at the action. 

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” The stiff line of the man’s jaw is frustrating as he evades the truth. Jean used to clam up the same way, back when he was frustrated with Marco’s busy schedule or willingness to do errand after errand for other people.

“Nothing? You might need stitches!” Marco exclaims, starting to dab alcohol wipes at the scrapes on his face. “Honestly, you should probably go to the hospital if these aren’t even the worst of your wounds!”

Without warning, he pulls the sunglasses up to rest in the man’s mussed blonde hair, eager to get a better look at the gash underneath his eye.

Suddenly, Marco is caught up in staring at the most familiar eyes in the world. Jean always did have striking amber eyes, almost like they glowed gold in the right lighting. They certainly look golden now, even in the office’s dim yellow lamplight.

The man in question can’t look away either, an expression of guilt tugging at his thin lips. God, if he didn’t recognize the eyes, the look on his face would have given it away. That sad, guilty expression is always the one Marco pictured in his daydreams about the moment Jean came back to explain. 

“Jean?” The name feels odd in his throat. What once came to him more easily than his own name feels dusty and unused. Or maybe that’s the tears trying to choke him on their way out.

His long lost friend turns away to stare down at the desk. “I shouldn’t have come back, but--”

“You asshole!” Marco interrupts, crushing his Jean in a hug. It’s hard to find the balance between hurting the injured man further and holding him tight enough so he doesn’t disappear from his arms again. “Where have you been? What happened? Why didn’t you _say_ something?”

Jean’s arms wrap around him just as tightly and his fingers dig into Marco’s wrinkled uniform shirt, but he doesn’t answer. Marco bites his tongue as he feels tears soak into his shoulder. He wants so badly to keep asking questions, but for now all he can do is hold on tightly while they both cry. It feels like a mirage and he’s so afraid he’ll break it.

It’s silent between them as Marco goes back to patching Jean up. Luckily, the wounds seem to have looked worse than they really are, but there is an abundance of dried blood everywhere that’s freaking Marco out. It can’t have been all Jean’s blood, or he’d be passed out. But if it’s not his…

Marco shakes his head. Even after all these years apart, he trusts Jean. He can’t start freaking out now, before he’s actually told him anything.

“Jean, I need to go back to work, but please don’t run off.” The words _“not again”_ are unspoken but seem to echo around the room. 

“Marco, it’s better for you if I do leave.” That solemn look that Marco doesn’t understand is back on Jean’s face. It’s an expression he hates more than any other, because it reminds him that he doesn’t understand anything anymore.

Hearing Jean say his name again suddenly makes everything feel real. His voice is a little deeper than he remembers, but at the heart of it, it’s the same. Marco feels stupid for not recognizing him earlier, but at the same time he would never have hoped to find him again like this after all these years.

“What does that mean? Are you in trouble?” 

Jean grinds his teeth before answering. It's a bad habit that Marco never thought he’d be so happy to see again, somehow both familiar and grounding. “Look, my dad... _owed …_ some bad people. Mom and I left because they managed to track us down.”

“Are these people the ones who hurt you?! Jean, we have to--”

Jean catches his hand as Marco reaches to pull out his cellphone. The touch is warm and familiar, even though the hand is much more calloused than it was before. “Marco, this is a special case. There’s nobody to help me.”

“I’ll help you.”

Jean looks almost heartbroken at his answer, his eyes watering. “I know you want to, but--”

“Jean, _please._ ” They both seem surprised by just how strained his voice sounds saying it. But he needs to know that Jean is okay and if he doesn’t get to help him, he will constantly be worried. Maybe it’s a selfish desire to have Jean back in his life, but he can’t help it.

Jean finally sighs before leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. Marco feels his face warm at the closeness and tries his best not to flinch backwards in surprise. It’s not a gesture Jean ever did when they were younger, and it feels almost too close and intimate.

The touch of their faces together suddenly reminds Marco of the epiphany he had had months after Jean left. That Jean had been more than just a best friend to him. His loss would have ached regardless, but the fact that none of his college boyfriends could hold up to even the _memory_ of Jean… Well, it wouldn’t have been something he’d have compared if he only loved Jean like a friend. This close, this open display of trust makes Marco blush.

_These feelings are not ruining this,_ he promises himself, _I just got him back, I am_ not _ruining this because of feelings that don’t matter._

“I’ll wait for your shift to end and we can talk tonight,” Jean promises, his fingers gently brushing over Marco’s knuckles from where he still clutches his hand. The words almost caress Marco’s face with how close they still are. His heart aches with too many feelings. Joy at finding his best friend back, but so much fear that he’ll lose him again. Confusion as to where he’s gone, concern about the people after him. Stronger than all the other emotions is the pure hope that somehow he can help Jean get through this and they can be as close as they were before.

* * *

For the next three hours of his shift, Jean sits in a back booth, waiting while he watches all the customers come and go. Despite his protests, Marco buys him dinner, which he reluctantly eats.

“I see your stalker has made his intentions clear,” Annie remarks with a distasteful glance at Jean’s corner. Despite her small frame, she can be intimidating enough to scare away their most unruly customers. Jean only gives her a quick glare back before he goes back to staring at the front door.

“Stalker? That’s mean.”

“He only comes on the nights you’re here. I’ve never seen him any other time. It’s like he sniffs you out or something.” She’s not very trusting of many people anyway, but her glare over at Jean is particularly venomous.

Annie has moved to town only recently so she doesn’t know the story of Marco and Jean. Considering the danger Jean’s in, that’s probably a good thing.

“I trust him, Annie,” Marco remarks, glancing up from the coffee pot he’s cleaning so their eyes meet. 

She stares up at him with a hard look, as if she’s trying to read him. He does his best not to waver, even though her light blue eyes have always intimidated him for some reason. Finally, she glances away with a soft sigh. “I don’t know if you should, but okay.” It’s the last she speaks of him for the rest of the night, even as Jean continues to sit at his booth waiting for Marco after closing time.

* * *

Jean is particularly restless on their walk back down familiar streets to the Bodt home. He’s constantly glancing around like they could be followed and sniffing every time they cross to a new street. Marco’s beginning to wonder if his friend has caught a cold, on top of everything, with how often his nose seems to be sniffling.

At least the glasses are off with only the two of them. Marco can’t stop glancing over at Jean’s bright golden eyes. They’ve always been beautiful, but now they almost seem to glitter in the dark. Maybe it’s because his memories have faded, but his eyes seem even brighter than before.

“I don’t like that girl,” Jean growls suddenly, as they turn down the final street, “Don’t be so trusting with her.”

Marco glances over, amused by the grimace on Jean’s face. He’s worked with Annie for months now. As quiet and intimidating as she can be, he trusts her. “Funny,” he answers lightly, “ she doesn’t trust you either.”

Jean grumbles something under his breath about stereotypes and Marco just glances at him. Yet another question tugs at his lips, but they’re almost home so he bides his time.

Marco lets them into the house quietly, knowing his mother is already asleep. Not knowing where else to take Jean, he leads him to his bedroom.

The room itself hasn’t changed much over the years. When he was going to college he hadn’t seen much point in changing anything and now that he’s back, it almost feels like he can’t change it. It’s a little disconcerting sometimes, feeling like he’s living in a room that belongs to a child. There’s just so many memories kept there, it feels like a betrayal to the past to change much, even if the room doesn’t feel like his.

Jean keeps glancing around, his eyes lingering on the most familiar items. He stares for a long time at the old GameCube on a shelf next to the tiny television they played games on. The screen was so small that they had to sit way too close to the T.V., sitting hip to hip so they could both play. Jean takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders. Marco can almost see Jean’s mental walls crumble as he stands in the room they spent so much time together in.

Maybe now they’ll finally be able to talk.

“Jean…”

“It’s too dangerous to give you details, Marco.” But Marco can tell by the slump of Jean’s shoulders that he doesn’t have the energy to keep putting up a front. Jean’s tired of pushing him away and if Marco really wanted, he could probably convince him to talk.

But he doesn’t want to push him, so he’ll compromise.

“Then don’t give me details. But tell me how to help you.” Marco has never felt more serious in his life. He doesn’t need details, he doesn’t need all of his questions answered, but he absolutely needs to help his friend.

Jean sighs, running a hand through his greasy hair. For someone who’s always been particular about his appearance, the state he’s in must be aggravating. “I guess if you wouldn’t mind letting me lay low here for a while? I was… sighted near my hotel.”

Marco smiles, relieved to finally get an answer. “Of course that’s fine! I can set up the guest bedroom, if you want.”

“Actually, could I just stay in here with you? I don’t want to worry your mom yet.”

Marco can't help but blush at the idea. Growing up, he had had a twin bed that had a large pull out drawer underneath with another twin mattress for sleepovers. The bed is the only piece of furniture that’s changed over the years, upgraded to a full size bed so his younger cousins could have his old one. Marco’s never asked, but he’s pretty sure that his mom decided to give his cousins the bed to make Marco more comfortable sleeping alone in his room.

“I, uh, don’t have the pull out anymore.” He glances at the bed. It’s bigger than his old bed or even the long twin he had in college, but it would still be a little tight to share. He doesn’t _really_ mind, but he’s afraid that Jean will find out why.

“I can sleep on the floor, if you want,” Jean quickly offers, totally oblivious to Marco’s internal struggle.

“Jean, you are _not_ sleeping on the floor.” Marco sighs as he looks over at the bed again. He’s just going to have to bury his feelings some more. No big deal. “And I know you’re not going to let me sleep on the floor, so we’re just going to try to share. If you want to get a shower I’ll find you something to wear and we can redress your wounds.”

The twenty minutes Jean spends in the bathroom seem like the longest minutes in Marco’s life. He’s trying not to overthink what’s going on, putting on his own pajamas and remaking his bed with freshly washed sheets.

The first aid kit looks strange sitting on his folded comforter. Honestly, as he pops the latch open to look inside he hopes that it’s been kept stocked. As far as he knows, no one’s needed to use it since he and Jean used to play outside together and come home with scraped elbows and knees.

As Marco is checking the expiration date on the antibacterial cream in the box, Jean finally comes back into the room. His hair sends some drops of water down his bare chest, but Jean doesn’t seem to notice it.

Marco hates that he can’t tear his eyes away from those nefarious water droplets. He had only given Jean boxers and sweatpants to take in the bathroom, so he could double check for any injuries under his shirt. Now, the decision seems to haunt him as he can see every lean muscle his friend has built up in his years away.

Marco’s traitorous brain reminds him that he hasn’t had a boyfriend since his short lived relationships his freshman year of college. And now he’s possibly sharing a bed with his long lost, stupidly hot best friend. That he thought was cute and had feelings for years before he got any of these muscles. Yeah, he’s trying not to panic.

“You okay, Marco?”

Marco blinks to find Jean’s chest right at eye level, standing in front of where Marco has been sitting on the bed zoning out.

“Sit down and let me look over your injuries again.” _And get your abs away from my face,_ he silently curses.

It’s only been a few hours since the last time he tried to treat him, but the wounds already look a lot better. What Marco swears used to be a large gash that probably needed stitches on Jean’s forearm now looks only like a thin red line. The butterfly bandages he seals the wound with are a little overkill at this point, but Marco could have sworn he would have needed something to keep the wound closed.

Even the wounds on his face seem to have healed. The bruises that were deep blue and purple earlier seem to be fading to greens and yellows. The gash under his eye now looks nothing more than a cat scratch.

“That’s weird,” Marco comments, as he slathers more ointment onto Jean’s skin. “I could have sworn everything was much worse. Maybe I overreacted.”

“I’m a fast healer,” Jean remarks, watching where Marco’s fingers slide against his skin. “You really don’t need to worry about me.”

“Jean, have I ever not worried about you?” Marco can’t help but smile, nostalgia reminding him of how Jean would pout and complain, but would always sit still when Marco fussed over him.

“You worried about me just as much as my ma ever did.” Jean snorts, remembering all the times Marco carried around bandaids in his backpack because of Eren and Jean’s near constant roughhousing.

Marco pauses, his fingers brushing against a bruise that covers up the waning crescent on Jean’s arm. It’s a question he’s been afraid of, but he has to ask. “... How _is_ your mom?”

Jean sighs, putting his own hand over Marco’s to stop the constant slow rubbing against his bruise. “I realized after a while that these people were more after me than Ma, so once I turned 18 I packed up and ran off. She was in a nice little town, so I’m sure she’s fine.”

“You’ve just been wandering on your own for four years?!”

Jean sighs, staring at the freckles on Marco’s arm instead of at his face. “There were a few places where I got to settle down for a while. I actually spent a whole year in L.A. It was big enough that it took them a long time to figure out I was there. I trained as a piercer, so I tend to do that when I need to find a job in a new place. I wanted to try tattooing, but I barely learned the basics before I had to leave.”

Marco glances down at the tattoo on his arm again. He follows the line of the crescent moon with his finger, making Jean shiver and pull his own hand away. “Is that when you got this done?”

“Yeah, I even tattooed the constellations on my own later. It’s why some of the stars are a little ugly.”

“They’re not ugly, Jean.” Marco can remember all the sketchbooks Jean kept over the years. He never told anyone besides his mom or Marco about his art, too embarrassed that people might tease him. But Marco always thought he was so talented. “I can see you as a tattoo artist, actually. It suits you.”

Jean gives him a soft smile, a little melancholy around the edges. “Thanks, Mar.”

“Come on, we’ll sleep and figure out what to do tomorrow.” He tosses Jean a shirt to sleep in. Marco has always been taller, but to see his own clothes drape loose around Jean’s frame is oddly satisfying.

They curl in back to back in a bed much too small for two grown men. It should be uncomfortable, but the feel of a warm body at his back helps Marco fall asleep.

* * *

Marco wakes up with a furnace attached to his back. For a moment, he forgets the night before and almost panics about where he is. But around him is his childhood bedroom and he can hear the familiar noise of Jean grumbling in his sleep. He always was a loud sleeper, whining, whimpering, and huffing throughout the night. Marco had gradually gotten used to the noise over many sleepovers, but his mom always laughed and said that Jean’s noises reminded her of a dog she had when she was a kid.

Marco closes his eyes and just listens to the familiar sighs of Jean in his sleep, pretending for a moment that he’s ten years old again, waking up from a sleepover with his best friend. 

But there’s drool pooling in his shirt from where Jean has shoved his face into his neck, and there’s an arm and a leg draped over his stomach. There’s also something poking into his back and oh, he definitely needs to get out of bed before this gets even more awkward.

It takes a few minutes to untangle himself from Jean’s limbs. Whenever he starts to escape, Jean’s limbs tighten, trying to keep him in place. “Stay,” he huffs in his sleep, shoving his face even closer to Marco’s neck. It would be cute if Marco didn’t think his heart was going to stop.

When he finally is free, he can’t help but stare at the face of his sleeping friend. The late morning sun glows through the blinds and halos Jean’s sleeping face. He looks a lot younger like that, more like the boy Marco remembers. He bleached the soft hair of his undercut to a platinum blonde, he pierced his ears with shining metal industrials and hoops, he gained a lot of scars and muscle, but underneath it all, it’s just Jean.

Marco silently promises to do everything he can to keep him safe before slipping away to get his own shower.

* * *

Living with Jean in his bedroom is a strange experience. In some ways, it’s familiar and comforting, but at the same time it’s overwhelmingly different. The biggest change is the secrecy, both between them and from the outside world. Marco can’t help but feel he has a new imaginary friend. Jean still doesn’t want Marco to tell his mom about him being back, so he slips in and out through Marco’s second floor window, only going around the house when she’s at work or asleep.

“You know, if someone sees you coming in and out through my window, they’re going to come to the complete wrong conclusion,” Marco had stated one night, hating how his cheeks grew pink at the thought.

“Hey, no one would expect me to be your secret clandestine lover, so maybe it’s a good conclusion to come to,” Jean had teased, reaching over to squeeze his knee in a slightly too friendly way. “I _do_ sleep in your bed every night.” 

“Don’t tease!” Marco huffed, ignoring the way Jean frowned a little as he took his hand away. “I’m serious.”

“Maybe I am too,” Jean had huffed quietly before turning back to the GameCube they had plugged back in, _Smash Bros_ glowing on the screen.

The bed sharing continued, even if there were some awkward moments mixed in. Jean liked to cuddle a lot, which was a little surprising. Marco had always been the cuddlier of the two when they were kids, but then again, Jean was always more honest with his actions than his words. The way that Jean latched onto him and refused to let go was his reminder every night that Jean had missed him just as much as he did.

Marco always seemed to wake up first, untangling himself to go make breakfast and see if his mom was home. Most of the time, Jean cuddled into his pillow instead, but sometimes he was awake enough to stare up at him with sad eyes. On those mornings, Marco always wondered what Jean had dreamt about to make him wake up so sad. But he never asked.

Actually talking was difficult for them for the first time. They talked about everything before and now, well Marco feels like he’s on eggshells every time he asks about something.

When he offered to help him with money, to maybe help pay off the guys on his back, Jean had just answered, “It’s not money that they’re after,” before slipping out the window to who knows where. He didn’t come back until Marco had already crawled in bed for the night, slipping behind him to cling to the back of Marco’s shirt like the blonde was afraid of _him_ leaving.

Jean didn’t go to _Ilse’s_ to eat anymore, but he would always be there waiting outside for Marco to lock up and walk home.

“It’s dangerous at night,” is all he would say, making pointed eye contact with Annie. She always rolled her eyes in response, but for some reason she glared back less and less with every one of Jean’s overly protective walks home.

Their weird rivalry always made Marco sigh, but he really enjoyed their walks home together. Annie was the only person who knew Jean was in his life, and it was nice being reminded that this was real and not some depressing figment of his imagination.

* * *

It’s like old times when Jean flops back on his bed, complaining that Marco works too much. He had always hated Marco being on the student council for the same reason. At times like these, it’s easy to pretend that they haven't’ changed at all over the years.

“I’m trying to build up a resume,” Marco answers, as he plans out his library days on the calendar around his work schedule. It’s always been easier for him to work on his writing assignments at the library. He’s less distracted there and more focused, especially since a huge distraction has taken up residence in his bedroom.

“You’re going to wear yourself down. You’re always working, writing, or researching. You never sleep enough.” Jean’s seriousness is toned down by the childish pout at his lips. It’s so familiar that Marco laughs.

“I sleep plenty,” Marco answers, going pack to planning out his month. He’s been having the best sleep of his life, actually. He sleeps more deeply with Jean around, honestly he always has. It’s part of why they had so many sleepovers as kids; they both relaxed enough to sleep knowing the other was in the same room.

“Marco you get like five hours a night. Even vampires sleep more than that.”

Marco laughs, shaking his head. “Vampires, huh? Are you saying I’m not human?”

Jean just stares for a moment. He doesn’t laugh at the joke and just sighs. “I’m just worried.”

Marco brushes a hand through his friend’s hair. His heart pounds in his chest as Jean lets his eyes flutter closed and leans into the touch. Has Jean always been so touchy?

“I’ll sleep more once I submit this to the editor, okay? I promise.”

Jean frowns, but doesn’t complain further. Marco runs his fingers through Jean’s hair a little more, letting himself enjoy the butterflies in his stomach for a moment.

* * *

After an all nighter, Marco finally hits send on his latest project, sighing in relief. Jean’s probably right, he really needs some sleep. Maybe he’ll get a quick nap before his shift.

Marco lays back in his empty bed ready to pass out. Jean had crawled out of the window in the early morning hours, so for the first time in a long time his bed is empty and cold. How is it that he so quickly forgot how to sleep alone again? Marco finally feels his thoughts start to slip away just as his phone rings.

It’s Rico, so he has to answer. His manager wouldn’t call him for no reason. “Marco, I hate to ask this, but can you come in early? Christa is out sick today and we could really use the help.”

After answering in a far too chipper, “I’ll be right there,” Marco groans and puts his uniform on. He’ll just have to sleep later.

* * *

“What did you do to him, leech?”

Marco’s eyes flutter as he hears the familiar voice. It’s too bright wherever he is, and he pinches his eyes shut again.

“Don’t you dare call me that again, or I _will_ bite you, taste be damned.”

_Annie? Am I at work?_ Marco groans as he tries to open his eyes again. He can see the vague shapes of two people, one towering over the other, before his eyes fall shut again.

“Marco, can you hear me?”

“Jean?” He hates how weak his voice sounds. What happened to him?

“He’s got a fever and his blood sugar is too low. He hasn’t been taking care of himself again, has he?”

“... And _how_ do you know if his blood sugar is low?” Marco doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, but he can hear the growl in Jean’s voice.

“I can smell it, numbnuts. My nose is just as sensitive as yours, we just look for different things. I don’t sniff butts, hound.”

Now there’s no denying that Marco has a fever, because what the actual hell are they talking about?

“You fucking--”

“Are you going to take care of him or what? I called your stupid ass for a reason.”

Jean sighs and Marco feels a gentle shake of his shoulder. When he struggles to open his eyes again, he can see Jean leaning over him, a look of concern painted across his face.

“Jean? What’s going on?”

“You left your phone at home and uh, your coworker here kept calling it. I finally answered it and she said you passed out at work and for me to come get you.”

“Oh.” Now that Marco is a little more coherent, he can tell that Annie must have taken him back to the office. How she dragged him in there without him remembering, he has no idea. “Sorry for passing out Annie.”

Annie just groans and puts her pale hand to her forehead. “I know that Rico called you, but if you didn’t feel well you should have told her. You shouldn’t have come in.”

“I was just tired. It’s nothing really.”

“It’s not nothing!” Jean hisses at him, biting his lip to keep from yelling more. Both Jean and Annie glare down at him. Finally, they seem to agree on something.

“Drink this and go home with your guard dog.” Annie hands him an apple juice box that they usually sell with kids meals. “You need to eat and sleep and probably take a fever reducer.”

For once, Jean doesn’t scoff at one of the odd nicknames Annie keeps giving him. He just brushes Marco’s bangs back to feel the heat radiate off his forehead. Despite himself, Marco finds his eyes closing again, comforted by the touch. He could fall asleep like this, right on Rico’s hard wooden desk chair.

“Drink, Marco.” Annie takes the juice box away from him to stab the straw into the box before giving it back. 

“But we’re so understaffed tonight…” Even as he argues, Marco sips on the juice. He actually does feel a little better. He had forgotten to eat toward his deadline, even though Jean kept sneaking into the kitchen to try to cook for him. It was a sweet gesture, even if all the meat he cooked tended to be rare enough that Marco didn't feel comfortable eating it. Jean always did like his meats alarmingly closed to undercooked.

“Rico called in Hitch and Marlow and she’s covering the front until they get here. We’re good, so go home.” 

Jean helps him to his feet and once Marco feels just how unsteady he is, he knows that they’re right. Luckily, despite the height difference, Jean is a warm, unwavering support as he tucks his arms around him.

“Thanks, Annie. But why did you call my phone? My mom’s my emergency number.”

“I know how you are about worrying Maria. I figured if you didn’t have your phone, maybe your boyfriend did. Luckily, I was right.” Annie’s tone is just as matter-of-fact as always, so Marco can’t tell if she’s teasing or genuinely mistaken.

_“Boyfriend?”_ Marco squeaks, feeling even more flushed. Jean doesn’t react to her statement and instead holds Marco closer to his side, helping him toward the door.

“Thanks for calling me Annie,” he mumbles, low enough that Marco barely hears it.

“You’re so protective, I have to trust him with you. I guess you’re not so bad, wolf.”

“It’s Jean.”

Marco’s having a hard time at following whatever odd truce they seem to have come to. He never understood where their rivalry came from in the first place. Plus, Jean’s arm around his waist is more than a little distracting, especially the way his thumb rubs comforting circles into his skin.

“See you round, Jean. Marco, don’t worry about your shift tomorrow.”

Before he can argue that he’ll feel much better after a nap, Jean whisks him out the back door.

* * *

Between Annie and Rico swapping out all of his shifts and Jean’s constant babysitting, Marco is basically bedridden for two days. Jean even uses Marco’s phone to fake a text to his mom that says he’s not feeling well, so she comes to pamper him too. Marco would complain about how everyone’s worrying over him too much, but honestly it’s pretty funny to see Jean hide in the closet every time his mom knocks on his bedroom door.

“It’s honestly ridiculous at this point, Jean. Why can’t we tell her?” Marco smiles as Jean tries to readjust the curtain rod in his closet. He had hit his head and knocked it over the most recent time she knocked on the door.

Jean busies himself with the curtain rod, hiding his face from view. Even before he speaks, Marco feels dread pool in his stomach. “I mean, there’s not much point now.”

Marco tries to sit up but the pillows just flop down underneath him. Jean turns back around to help him up and Marco grabs onto his arm tightly, suddenly afraid that Jean will slip away again. “What do you mean by that?”

Jean grimaces down at him, a guilty look in his eyes. “Look, I need to leave for a few days. I absolutely hate to leave while you’re feeling sick, but it’s not something I have control over.” He shoves his free hand in his pocket, tucking the tattooed part of his arm against his side.

Marco feels his dread grow even deeper and heavier. “That’s why you made sure to tell my mom,” he whispers.

“Well, I would have told her anyway, but I definitely feel more comfortable that she’s checking on you.” Jean’s avoiding his eyes again, raising his shoulders to cut off his body language. It’s like when they first reunited all over again, only even worse. Because Jean shouldn’t be so distant, not when they’ve gotten so close.

“Jean, please don’t go.” Marco fights his tears, not wanting to make everything worse.

“I’ll come back when I can, I promise.” Jean gently lifts his chin so they’re looking at each other. To Marco’s relief, his eyes look a little teary too. “It won’t be like last time. I can’t say I’ll stay forever, but I’m not leaving when you’re sick.”

“But if I wasn’t sick, then you would leave for good.” It’s a statement, not a question. As much as he tried to ignore Jean’s hints about being on borrowed time, he knows that Jean has been set on leaving. He just hoped he could change his mind first.

“Marco, you know I’m not safe to have around.”

Marco finally lets his tears free. “You know I don’t care. I’ve missed you so much, Jean and to finally feel like I have you back… I can’t lose you again. You’re my best friend.”

Jean freezes at his words, a sharp inhale dragging through his lips. He looks _hurt_ as he stares down at him. “Marco, I--” Before he gets to finish his sentence, there’s a knock at the door.

“Marco, I made you some soup,” his mom calls through the wood, “Are you awake?”

Instead of running for the closet, this time Jean opens the window. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he promises before disappearing into the dusk. It’s the quickest Marco has ever seen him move, one moment at his bedside, the next just a flutter of the curtain shows where he went. It’s almost as sudden as when he moved away.

Not hearing an answer, Maria opens the door to peek at her son. “Oh sweetie, are you okay? Why are you crying? Is your fever back?” She nearly spills the soup and its serving tray on her rush to reach him, setting it on his desk beside the bed so she has hands free to feel his forehead for fever.

For a moment, Marco can’t speak, too overwhelmed by his sobs and his ache of loss. He takes refuge in her hands in his hair, her soft murmurs of comfort. After a few minutes, he finally sighs and brushes tears away from his sore, puffy eyes. “I’m okay mom,” he promises, much to her disbelieving look, “I just had a dream about Jean leaving again.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She leans over the bed to pull him into a hug, holding him tight as if her hands alone can keep him from falling apart. “You know, you haven’t mentioned him in a while.”

“It makes me sad to think about him,” Marco whispers. 

“I know sweetie.” She rocks him gently side to side, like he’s a baby in a bassinet. It feels childish, but he’ll take the comfort she’s offering without complaint. 

“Mom, are you sure you didn’t know they were leaving? You were always so calm about it.”

Maria sighs and lets him go so she can sit next to him on his bed. Her hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, trying to rub away the tension. “I didn’t know anything for certain, but when you both were little, Linda once told me that if they left suddenly to not worry about them. That it was just something they had to do.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Honestly, when she said that, I figured maybe her husband was abusive or something. We never did meet him, not in all the years that we’ve known them. Isn’t that odd?” Marco hums in agreement, urging her to continue. “But she always said that he was alive and she was still married.”

If that was the conclusion she came to, then no wonder she hadn’t told him her concerns. If anything, it would have freaked him out even more.

“You haven’t heard from her since they left?”

“No, sweetie. I don’t have a clue where they are. You know I’d have told you if I did. Hell, we would have flown there if we could. Linda was my friend as much as Jean was yours.” Her voice falls and Marco remembers how they sat in the stands together at all their sports meets and award ceremonies. How right after the divorce, they were constantly at the Kirstein house, as much for his mother’s comfort as for his. He wants to apologize for not realizing that she lost a friend too when she interrupts his thoughts with a chuckle. “Actually, maybe not as much as you two. We weren’t twins after all.”

“ _Mom!”_

“Aww, you two were so cute!” She squeezes him tight, tucking her head into his shoulder. It reminds him of the way Jean would curl around him in his sleep, always trying to spoon him even though he was shorter. His mom’s long hair brushes against his neck, pulling him away from the memory. He can see her spare a glance at his GameCube and the fact that it's been plugged in for the first time in years. “You know, I have no doubt that he misses you just as much as you miss him. And once his situation clears, he’ll come searching for you in a heartbeat.”

Marco swallows, his eyes watering again at her confidence in her words. He can manage a partial truth. “I uh, think I saw him at the diner one night. I didn’t really recognize him, but after the fact, you know, I think it might have been him. My name tag had broken, but he still called me by my name and his eyes were so familiar.”

She just holds him tighter. “Oh, sweetie. Has he ever come back?”

“I don’t think so.” Lying has never come to Marco easily, but this one seems especially hard. 

“Well, it’s probably a good sign,” his mom smiles, her confidence blinding him. “If he’s back in the area, maybe things are starting to settle.”

Marco glances over at the window, watching the curtains shift in the gust of wind coming in from the tiny opening Jean had left behind, unable to completely close it from the outside. “I sure hope so.”

* * *

Life seems to go back to the way it was before. Marco goes back to work, he lands another freelance assignment, and he makes sure to leave his window cracked, so Jean can get back in. Yet days go by and there’s no sign of him.

Annie gives him harsh looks and smacks at him with her notepad when she sees the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re not getting sick again are you?”

“Just tired.” Marco’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He pauses, looking over at Annie. She's the only person other that knew about Jean and Marco is so, _so_ tired of lying. “Jean had to leave for a few days and I’m just a little worried.”

She just gives him a glance with her steel blue eyes that almost looks like it’s full of _pity._ “He didn’t tell you.” It’s not a question, but Marco answers.

“He didn’t tell me where he was going, no.” Marco notices a new customer coming to the door and turns toward the counter with a big smile. He eagerly abandons the conversation, not ready to try and think about all the things Jean hasn’t told him.

He can feel Annie’s eyes on the back of his head. He feels like she knows something he doesn’t, but he’s afraid to ask. 

* * *

After a week of his room feeling empty, Marco decides to spend every free afternoon he has in the library. Most of the time, he’s researching or working on one of his freelance assignments. But other times, he just enjoys the silence, the change of pace. He came to the library a lot as a kid, but he’s spent so much time there in the years since Jean left that the space almost feels neutral. It certainly has less memories than his bedroom, at least.

Marco sighs, leafing through his notebook. He really doesn’t feel like writing, but he doesn’t want to go home either.

“You’ve been here more lately.” The voice startles Marco enough for him to drop his pen and it slowly rolls across the table.

“Yeah,” Marco agrees, looking up to see the librarian Levi beside him with a stack of books on a cart to be reshelved. He’s honestly surprised that the man is talking to him. Levi has always been content to just watch and observe the people that come into the library, not much of a talker. The neighborhood kids were all scared of him, for one reason or another.

“Big assignment for the paper?”

"Something like that.”

Levi stares at him with his slate gray eyes. Marco tries his best not to squirm. As a kid, Jean had convinced him that Levi was a witch that could see into your soul with his magic eyes. It’s a silly thought, but there’s still an unnerving quality about his stare. He must be just a little too observant, a little too good at analysis.

“You look like you haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

This is definitely a conversation Marco never imagined. First Annie feels bad for him and now Levi’s asking about his sleep cycle. What is happening to his life?

“Just been having a hard time falling asleep, that’s all.”

“Maybe it's because of the moon,” Levi hums, surprisingly casual. He picks up a book from the cart to slide it back in its place on the shelf beside them. “It _was_ a full moon the other night.”

Marco frowns up at him. _A full moon? What would that have to do with it?_ Absurd as the suggestion is, Marco can’t help but remember Jean’s tattoo. Even with all of the days they had spent together the past month, Jean hadn’t mentioned anything more about his tattoo besides that he had tattooed the constellations himself.

“A full moon can impact your sleep?” Marco tilts his head with the question.

“I mean logically there’s a chance that more light is entering your bedroom,” Levi remarks coolly. He glances over at him with those piercing eyes before she shelves another book. “But depending who you talk to, the full moon is supposed to have all sorts of qualities. If you’re so bored, maybe you should look into some of them. Kill some time.”

Marco blushes, flustered that his boredom must be so easy to read. “Maybe, I will.”

“Let me know if you have any questions.” And with that, the strange conversation is over and Levi is already pushing the cart down a different aisle.

“The moon, huh?” Honestly, Marco doesn’t know why he’s so curious about it. But he doesn't have much else to do. It’s actually one of his few days off from the diner, so he’s free all day and he has hours before his mother will be home for them to make dinner together. 

So he wanders the aisles, looking for anything to trigger his curiosity. He heads toward the history section in particular. It’s one of his favorite aisles to go through; he’s always loved to learn details about different times and cultures. With how much time he spends working for one job or another, he doesn’t have time to read and research for his own interest. 

He lets his fingers slide against some of the spines, looking for something to catch his interest. He almost leaves the aisle when he notices a thick purple bound book. It’s oddly placed on it’s side on top of the properly shelved books, like someone had meant to come back for it but had forgotten. _That’s odd,_ Marco thinks, _I thought Levi came through this row, why didn’t he put this one back?_

The book is hefty in his hands, somehow heavier than it looks. On the cover is a silver foil circle with the title _People of the Moon_ written underneath. There’s no author and both the back and spine of the book are blank.

_Weirder and weirder,_ Marco thinks as he flips the book open. He’s not surprised that there’s not a library barcode on the inside, with how odd the book itself is. Someone just left it here then?

Marco starts taking the book to the front counter to show Levi that an outside book has somehow made it onto his shelves. He’s curiously leafing through it when a page opens to a diagram of the moon phases. It’s nothing like the tattoo on Jean’s arm besides the subject matter but somehow Marco can’t help but stare for a moment, midstep.

Suddenly he has the urge to read it, to see if there’s something inside that could make him understand Jean more, even a little bit. Maybe they could talk about his tattoo or something, ask why he was so interested in the moon.

He’s already halfway to the counter and Levi is quietly watching him, so Marco finishes taking the book up to him. “I um, found this on one of the shelves. It doesn’t have a barcode or anything.”

Levi holds out his hand to look at it and suddenly Marco doesn’t want to let go. He has a strange sense of hope just by holding this book in his hand now, and he’s afraid to lose it. But still, Levi’s the head librarian; he should know about it.

When it’s in his hand, Levi simply frowns down at it. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised to see it. “Yeah it’s not a library book. Looks like one from my personal collection ended up out here somehow.”

“Oh.” There goes his hope. If this is his personal book, there’s no way he’s letting it out of the library. To someone who collects books like a dragon hoards treasure, sharing them is out of the question. _It’s not a big deal,_ he reasons, _surely there’s a lot of books about the moon, I can just find a different one._

“But since I trust you, I’ll let you borrow it for a while. Just bring it back when you’re done and don’t forget to ask me if you have any questions.” To his surprise, Levi slips a business card inside and puts it back in front of him on the counter. 

“Oh, if you’re sure.” Marco can’t help but sigh in relief as the book makes it back in his hands.

“I’ve never been more sure,” is the odd response Levi gives him.

* * *

_People of the Moon_ doesn’t have an index or table of contents, so there’s really no hint as to what’s in the book. With no better place to start, Marco opens to the first page. It seems to just be a book of legends, mostly. There’s pages about witches, who can use the moon phases for rituals and to strengthen certain spells, and vampires, nocturnal creatures that don’t combust in the sun like in movies, but still have an allergic type reaction to sunlight. It’s all oddly detailed information, almost more like medical records than legends--Marco never thought he’d see a guide on how to treat vampire hives or sunburn. 

His eyes linger when he gets to a page talking about werewolves. Apparently, their intestinal system can’t digest chocolate, grapes, avocados, or other foods generally toxic to dogs, even in their unshifted form. _Huh, that’s funny, Jean’s allergies are pretty similar._

Marco doesn’t like the way his heart pounds the more he reads. It’s stupid, but suddenly he realizes that he’s never seen Annie eat on any of her breaks and she only drinks out of a thick temperature controlled thermos. She exclusively works night shifts and the one time she filled in for someone during midday, she had arrived absolutely swaddled in clothing even though it was during the heat of summer.

_What did Jean call her? A leech? And she knew about my blood sugar, they argued about it._ Now that he thinks about it, she’s always been particular about Bertholdt and made sure to make him take snack breaks to manage his type 1 Diabetes. Marco had figured that she used the clock to remind him, but what if she could _smell_ it, like she seemed to imply when Marco got sick?

And what about what she called Jean? A mutt, a hound, a guard dog, _a_ _wolf._ Jean had always had a few idiosyncrasies that Marco had gotten used to, but now that he flips through this book… It’s starting to add up in uncomfortable ways.

_“Werefolk transform on the night of the full moon. On the days before, they are often easily aggravated, uncomfortable with physical touch, and have sore or achy muscles and joints. Cramps are common, especially among younger shifters that haven’t reached full physical maturity in either form.”_

Jean’s family days were always once a month and the days before it he always grew increasingly grouchy. He’d fight with Eren even more than usual and Marco would be the only person he let close. He didn’t seem to mind physical touch, but now that Marco thinks about it, he more often than not asked for Marco to rub his back on those days because he said that it hurt.

If it was the full moon the other day, then Jean had left right before his symptoms would have started.

_"Werefolk shift back to their human forms after the full moon ends. Whatever wounds are accumulated in one form will still be present in the other. Healing in wolf form is faster, but werefolk are notably fast healers in general, as long as there are no toxins in the blood. Silver is the most toxic substance of all and will prevent healing in its entirety.”_

Marco can’t help but think of how Jean’s injuries had seemed to heal before his eyes. He had been drenched in blood but his injuries were minor. And all those scars across his skin… Had he been grievously hurt and they had already healed to minor scratches? Did this happen often? Was he hurt now?

_“Lycanthropy can be passed on through bloodline and through a bite from a werewolf during their moon shift. Genetic werewolves get their first shift between the ages of three and four, depending on their human child development. It’s common for a full shift not to occur until the child is after eight years old, prior shifts often manifest as partial shifts with wolven fur, ears, paws, and tails.”_

Could Jean’s mystery father have been--no that’s silly. Marco tries to brush away his tumultuous thoughts. So what if Jean disappears on the full moon, is allergic to chocolate, has golden eyes that are brighter at night, has fast, nearly inhuman healing capabilities…

This is all fantasy, right?

Sitting between the next pages like a bookmark is Levi’s business card. It’s late, but somehow Marco knows the man is awake. Without thinking, he dials the number and tries to steady his breathing.

“Hello?” The man’s voice sounds even sharper over the phone, like it doesn’t need the technology to bridge the distance between them.

“Levi, is it possible for this to be true?” Marco doesn’t even think to introduce himself, too focused on not hyperventilating. Luckily, Levi seems to recognize his voice.

“What do you think, Marco?”

Honestly he just wants a yes or a no answer. “I--” before he can formulate his own thoughts, the doorbell rings.

It's eleven o'clock at night, who could possibly be at the door? His mother’s been asleep for an hour and on a normal day Marco would still be at work.

“I’ll stay on the line,” Levi promises, somehow just as unnerved as Marco is.

He holds the phone against his chest, and makes his way to the front door. They have a peephole in the door, but whoever rang the doorbell isn’t at the right height and he can’t see them. A lost child? A package that’s been left behind? At this late hour, either one is worrying for a multitude of reasons.

He cracks the door to get a peek at what he’s working with and sees a familiar bleached blonde undercut. “Jean?”

He opens the door and almost screams. Jean is drenched in blood, leaning against the front door, nearly passed out. As the door swings inward, he practically falls into the entryway at his feet.

“Jean!”

“Marco, what’s happening?” Levi’s voice is muffled from where his phone is held against his chest. Marco hardly notices his words, far too worried about his friend at his feet.

“Sorry. Couldn’t get to the window,” Jean whispers as Marco pushes his hair back to see his face better. He’s covered in blood and different scratches, but the worst seems to be on his side, just under his ribs. When Marco pulls his jacket back, he’s panicked to see that there’s so much blood his pale blue shirt looks black.

Levi keeps asking questions and suddenly Marco remembers that he’s still on the phone. “Levi, Jean’s hurt really bad. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll be right there.” The line clicks dead and Marco is left with just himself and Jean, tucked into his arms.

He rips off his cotton sleep shirt to try to use to apply some pressure to the most concerning wound on Jean’s side. The way his white shirt quickly turns red makes him want to panic more.

“Sorry Mar,” Jean whispers, his eyes half closed. “Wanted to heal before I came back, but it’s not working.” His hand blindly reaches out to him, twining their fingers together, even as Marco tries to apply pressure.

“It’s gonna be okay Jean, I promise,” Marco promises, before turning his attention to his phone on the floor. 

Honestly he wants to call 911 more than anything, but if Jean _isn’t_ human, then would they even be able to help him? 

So instead he calls the only other person that he thinks might know anything. “Siri, call Annie.”

“Marco? I was just locking up the diner, can this wait?” She sounds tired and frustrated. It must have been a bad day at work, but he doesn’t have time to feel bad about calling.

“Annie, you know about blood, right?” His voice is higher than he would like, nearly trembling on the word “blood.” His hands feel wet through the fabric of his shirt and Jean’s grip isn’t as strong as it was a few minutes ago.

“What’s wrong?” Her monotone voice has never been more grounding.

“Jean’s hurt really bad, he won’t stop bleeding and I don’t know what to do.”

“Silver poisoning,” she hisses. “I think I have something, hold on.”

Holding on is really his only option at this point, as he continues to apply pressure to the wound. “Come on Jean, start healing already.”

The man in question has passed out, his breathing weak and uneven. If they don’t stop this bleeding…

Marco has never been happier for people to just open his front door before.

“Marco, welcome Annie in,” Levi announces, instantly bustling in with a large black bag to crouch over Marco and Jean.

“Annie, come in please.” If he had any questions about vampires needing to be invited, he doesn’t anymore. As soon as the words are spoken, she’s at his side, the door swinging shut behind her.

“None of his minor wounds have started healing,” Annie remarks, “This is definitely silver poisoning.” 

Levi raises Jean’s shirt above his torso, taking a deep breath at the wound. “Silver bullet. Must be lodged here. Marco lay him back and give his head to Annie.”

As Marco shifts to lay Jean on his back, Levi waves his hand and the shirt and jacket Jean’s wearing slip away from his skin and neatly fold themselves beside them. Rather than being distracted by the magic trick, all Marco can see are the bloody wounds on Jean’s chest.

Annie puts her hands on either side of Jean’s head without question.

“Stay away from his mouth,” she tells him, a sharp warning. “He can’t turn you outside of a full moon, but his jaws could break your hand.”

Not knowing what else to do, Marco grabs Jean’s hand tightly in his as Levi leans over the body to get to work.

One hand glows white while the other glows green. “Luckily it’s not deep enough that I can’t see it,” Levi grumbles. The hand bathed in white light slowly and rhythmically circles its fingers, as if tugging at an invisible string. 

He holds the hand glowing green just above Jean’s skin. At Marco’s glance, he answers, “Trying to force his body to start healing. The silver’s preventing it, but I might be able to speed it up once it’s out. I must warn you though, things are going to happen quickly once I get this bullet out,” Levi says, his hand moving quicker in its motions. “He’s probably going to even bleed more.”

“I bought some cryo from the blood bank,” Annie says, shifting to hold Jean’s head between her knees to grab a syringe out of her jacket pocket. “It should help make him clot quickly.”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

“Pass me one of his wrists,” Annie tells Marco, her grip tightening on the sides of Jean’s head as he starts to stir and groan.

Marco just holds onto Jean’s hand as Annie injects the syringe into his vein. Jean howls, his eyes flashing open to reveal blown pupils that nearly hide his golden irises. His teeth have been replaced by sharp fangs and Annie leans forward to press on his shoulders so he can’t buck upward. Claws grow at Jean’s fingertips, scratching at Marco’s hands and arms. He doesn’t pay much attention to the pain, noticing more that the clawed hands are latching onto him, instead of trying to get away.

“Hold his arm up like it’s an I.V.” 

Marco does as he’s told, watching as Jean’s skin ripples and his muscles tense.

“Not now, stupid pup,” Levi hisses, trying to move his hand faster but while keeping the same rhythmic pattern. “I almost have it, if you go shifting I might lose the bullet deeper in the muscle.”

“Why is it happening now?!” Marco struggles to keep Jean’s arm still enough to get the cryo to circulate. At the sound of his voice, the violent tremors seem to lessen just enough for him to hold his wrist up straight.

“They can shift at will, but pain can trigger them just as quickly as the moon,” Levi grunts, placing his glowing green hand against Jean’s chest, trying to keep him steady. His knees are busy pinning Jean’s legs down, so he doesn’t twist or buck too far. “Talk to him, try to calm him down.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Jean.” Marco promises, taking his right hand away from Jean’s arm to gently brush against his chest in a circular pattern. “We’re going to make you better, and then we’re going to call your mom and get her to come visit. You’re going to get that tattooing job you always wanted and we’re going to get an apartment together, like we planned when we were kids.” Marco tries not to sniffle, leaning in further. He can see Annie’s arms tense, but Jean just leans back limply on the floor. 

“I’m not ever going to allow you to isolate yourself ever again. Even if it's not me, you need to let someone help you.”

“Mar…” The whimper that comes through Jean’s teeth is deeper than his normal voice, almost like a growl. Marco knows that it's meant to be a gentle noise, despite how hard Jean's throat must have to work to get it out in this state.

“You’re the most important person in my life,” Marco promises. “I love you and I’m not going to let you get hurt like this again.”

Jean flinches with a roar as Levi yells triumphantly. “Got it!”

He drops the bullet in a glass jar and Marco tries not to gag at the sight of it. Now, both of Levi’s hands glow green as the skin starts to stitch itself together. The wound doesn’t entirely close, but it does shrink considerably in size. Between the magic, Jean’s werewolf healing, and Annie’s vial, the bleeding seems to have stopped.

“As soon as his body works the silver out entirely, he should be in the clear,” Levi promises, pressing his hand over Marco’s where it still rubs circles into Jean’s skin.

Jean’s passed out again and Annie sits back to let him go, knowing he’s not going anywhere. As she moves away, Marco is surprised to see wolf ears hidden amongst Jean’s hair. Just as he sees them, they start to recede back into his skull. When he glances at the hand in his, the claws have shifted back too.

It could almost have been a dream, if not for the claw marks on the back of Marco’s hand and the blood all over the floor and their clothes.

“If it was anything else, I’d filter it out for him, but silver can kill me too,” Annie huffs. “Better to let his body filter the rest out.”

“So he might be ill when he regains consciousness again,” Levi comments, busy wiping his hands with a hand towel he pulled out of his bag. The towel is remarkably white, even after he cleans the blood off of his fingers. “The toxin’s got to come out one way or another. Give him plenty of fluids until his stomach settles and you can feed him more solid foods. Otherwise, just treat him with basic first aid for the wounds. His healing should take care of the rest.”

Marco gently pulls Jean into his arms, tucking his head against his chest. Jean lets out the softest whimper he's ever heard, but doesn't stir.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Marco mumbles, looking up at them with teary eyes. It’s been an overwhelming night and it’s hard for him to think straight anymore.

“The only people with silver bullets,” Annie grumbles as she stands back up, “would be Hunters. And they’re a danger to all of us.”

“They shouldn’t be able to get past my wards,” Levi remarks with distaste, “so this foolish pup tried to go as far as possible from the town and out of my cloaking spells.”

“Wards? Hunters?” Marco glances between the two of them. 

“You have protective wards up,” Annie comments with an impressed hum and the slightest raise to her eyebrows. “You’re more powerful than I thought you were, witch.”

“Child, I know you’re new here, but don’t test me. I have more power than you can imagine.” Levi stands, using his rare height advantage to loom over her. “If I had determined you were a threat, you would have known just how powerful I am the day you came to town.”

Marco just stares between them, even as his eyelids droop with exhaustion.

Levi sighs. “I’ll come back to check on you and explain more tomorrow. It’s been a full night.” He waves his hand and the blood smeared around the room disappears, including from the neatly folded pile of clothing. “Poor Maria would think there was a massacre in her living room.” With another wave of his hand, Jean’s body floats away from Marco’s arms, settling into his instead.

To Marco's further surprise, Annie easily scoops him up in her arms. He can hear Levi snort at the image, the tiny vampire carrying him in her arms like a baby. “You know,” she dryly comments as they reach the stairs, “When I first thought you were a trustworthy ally, I never imagined you would be so much trouble.”

Her grip on him doesn’t waver, even once they start climbing. Her supernatural strength is impressive and Marco tiredly wonders if she’ll ever tell him more about being a vampire. “You’re a good friend, Annie,” Marco sighs as his eyes flutter closed. He can hear Levi on the stairs behind them, lifting Jean’s weight with ease.

“I can’t say I’ve heard that too much,” she answers. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that her voice sounded fond. “But you and your boyfriend aren’t too bad either.”

Marco doesn’t argue as his eyes flutter closed.

* * *

He wakes the next morning in the guest bedroom, only slightly disoriented. _People of the Moon_ sits on the pillow beside him, open like an invitation to keep reading. Despite how exhausted he still feels, Marco pulls the book closer to him, full of even more questions than the night before.

The open pages describe Hunters and the types of weapons and tracking methods they use. Their silver bullets are one of the most dangerous weapons in their arsenal, melted in molds for use in different types of guns over the years. Interestingly, some of the text in the book seems ancient, while some of the weapons listed there are more modern.

“If hunters are after Jean, then are they the ones that have always been after him? He did say they weren’t after money,” he mumbles to himself.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself, but I think that you’re on the right track.”

Marco nearly jumps from the bed when he sees Levi standing in the doorway, holding a cup of tea oddly by its rim.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Marco remarks sheepishly, relaxing enough to sit back down.

“Well, you _did_ sleep until two in the afternoon.”

“What?! How could I have slept so long?!” Now, Marco does finally fling the sheets off of himself, nearly stumbling as he tries to hurry to stand.

“Last night was very stressful, so it's not a surprise.” Levi looks over him appraisingly. “You actually could use more sleep, from the look of things.”

“But who’s taking care of Jean then? His wounds need tending.” Marco imagines him feverish in the night, all alone.

“Your mother has.”

Marco’s blood nearly freezes in his veins. “Mom…”

Levi sighs. “I know Jean was beyond paranoid, but you don’t think you can take care of an injured man on your own, do you? What about when you left for work?" 

Levi shakes his head in frustration before he holds out his free hand between them, palm upward. Just like the night before, it glows a bright green. He stares at Marco with cold eyes. “Your hand, remember?”

Marco looks down at his left hand, at the bandages he had sloppily wrapped the night before. He had begged Levi not to heal him, so he’d remember that everything that happened that night was real.

Levi takes another sip of tea. “I need to heal it before Jean or Maria see it. We wouldn’t want them to panic, would we?”

Marco unwraps his hand, giving the scratches one last look. With the way they curve underneath his knuckles and into the back of his palm, somehow he just knows that Jean had simply been trying to hold onto him tighter. “He didn’t try to hurt me.”

Levi snorts, pulling the teacup from his face. “Kid, we all know that. But if he sees those, he’s going to blame himself for hurting you. It’s probably why he ran so far from the town for his shift, because he was afraid of hurting someone he cared about. If he had had any guidance from another wolf, he’d have known he’d become overprotective of his pack, if anything.”

“Pack?” Marco asks, finally putting his hand in Levi’s open one. The green magic almost tickles as it dances across his skin.

“Just because you’re not a wolf doesn’t mean you’re not his. His tattoo is proof of that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Marco finds himself frowning in confusion. Jean's tattoo was of the moon, which would just be a homage to his relationship with it, right?

Levi groans, releasing his hand so it falls back to Marco's side. “Child, what’s your star sign?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. I never paid much attention to astrology.”

Levi finishes his cup of tea before making it disappear. “Your birthday is June 16th, a Gemini. One of the two constellations on his wrist. If I had to guess, the Taurus constellation is for someone else he’d want to feel connected to.”

Suddenly, all Marco can think about is the vulnerable look in Jean’s eye when he said that he tattooed them himself. They were important enough for him to draw on his own skin. His heart feels overwhelmed with affection and numbly follows Levi down the hall.

He can hear his mother humming inside his bedroom and suddenly feels afraid. It’s not that Marco is opposed to his mother’s help. If anything, he wanted her to know about Jean from the beginning. But now there’s even more mysteries going on. How could she possibly understand? “What did you tell her?”

Levi crosses his arms. “I can help explain things whenever you want, but Jean really has to tell her his side first. I just told her that he showed up last night injured and that you called me over to help you out.”

Levi turns away from the door to look up at him. “You talked about finding Linda Kirstein last night. I might be able to help you with that, if you’re serious. She would probably have some of the best luck explaining the werewolf situation to your mother. You must admit that she should probably know, by this point.”

When they open his bedroom door, they can see his mother sitting on the end of his bed, putting a damp towel on Jean’s forehead. She looks so natural sitting there and suddenly Marco remembers all the years when she took care of Jean just as much as she took care of him.

“He fell back asleep,” she remarks quietly. “He should be good for a few hours now. Come to the kitchen and I’ll make something for you, too.”

“Mom, you don’t have to cook for me,” Marco weakly insists as his mother walks away from the bed after a final pet to Jean's cheek.

“You’ve had a stressful time too. Let me take care of my baby.” She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, like the way she used to comfort him as a kid.

Marco lets her lead him to the kitchen but only after glancing back at Jean. His best friend looks better than he did the night before, a comforting sign that he is finally starting to heal.

“You can take him some soup later,” she tells him. “I think he’ll be able to handle broth by then.”

“Thanks for taking care of him, Mom.” There’s a lot of other words that he can’t say yet, but he hopes that she knows just how grateful he is.

“Sweetheart, I love that boy like my own son. Of course I’m going to take care of him. For him to show up on our doorstep so sick and hurt, that must have been so scary for you. You should have gotten me. We’re so lucky that Levi had been driving by.”

Marco swallows thickly, the desire to tell her everything bubbling up. He’s got to tell her _something._ “Mom, he was actually staying in my room for the past month. He didn’t want to get you involved in his troubles, so he didn’t want you to know he was here. In fact, he didn’t even tell me most of what was going on, either. I didn’t want to lie to you, but he was really worried.”

She slaps a soup pan on the counter with a little more force than intended, turning to stare at him with surprise. Her hands land on her hips like she's ready to give a lecture, though her words are anything but expected. “Marco, you think I didn’t know there was another man living in my house? Unless you were eating for two and had gotten a new habit of climbing the siding, I knew there was someone else here.” She stops to read the date on a box of chicken stock that she pulls out of the pantry. “Honestly, I was about to tell you to just let your mysterious new friend just use the door and stop putting scratches in my siding when I saw you cry over him leaving again.”

“Oh…”

She pats his head gently before washing her hands to cook. “Part of me thought you had gotten a new boyfriend and were afraid to tell me. But one morning I went to check on you when you were sick and I saw him taking care of you. It’s odd, but even with a short glance I just knew it was Jean. I’ve never seen anyone else look at you like that.”

Marco feels his face heat, suddenly overwhelmed. “What does that mean?” He thinks of what Levi said, about the tattoo representing people he wanted to keep close. He’s not sure his heart can take her answer.

“Well, even the boyfriends you brought home never had the soulmate stare.” 

“Excuse me, the what now?” Her words are just as surprising as the words in Levi's book, nearly giving him whiplash.

“The look like they trusted you more than they trusted themselves. Knew everything about you and loved you regardless. You both looked at each other like that all the time and Linda and I called it the soulmate stare.” She frowns down at the celery she has on the cutting board. “Honestly, we were sort of wondering if you two would end up dating at some point.” She gives him a pointed look. "Now go check on your boy so I can cook."

Marco is utterly speechless as she ushers him out of the kitchen. He stumbles down the hall, too flustered to even comprehend where his mom is coming from. He’s glad that Levi never joined them in the kitchen, because that would have made the overwhelming situation especially mortifying.

But Marco can't help but disagree with her observations. He obviously didn’t know everything about Jean, or none of this would have happened at all, so she had to be wrong. And even if Levi is right about the tattoo, it doesn’t mean anything more than that they were inseparable before and it felt weird to be apart.

_Don’t get your hopes up,_ he tells himself over and over on his way up the stairs.

He finds Levi in his bedroom with Jean, who’s just starting to wake up.

“You sure caused us a lot of trouble, pup,” Levi gripes, folding his arms like a disappointed parent. 

Jean grits his teeth as he glares up at the man. “What are you doing here? How’d you even know where to find me?” Marco’s initially caught by surprise at the sudden hostility, but then again, Jean hasn’t seen Levi in over six years, so he’s sure to be surprised and confused.

“I saved your life last night, you twerp. Show some respect.”

Jean raises his hand to feel at his bullet wound, his brows raising when he feels the raised, scarring skin under the bandage. “Oh,” he mumbles. “That wasn’t a dream.”

“If Marco hadn’t called me and Annie, you would be dead right now. You would have died either in his arms or on his front porch and he would never have known why.”

“But what was I supposed to do?! I promised him I’d come back. Disappointing him again would kill me because I freaking lo—“ Jean looks up and sees Marco standing in the doorway, shutting his mouth with a loud clack of teeth. “Marco, you saw last night, didn’t you?”

Marco mourns the way Jean visibly clams up at his presence, but forces a smile when he fully enters the room and shuts the door. Mom is busy cooking, but just in case he doesn't want to risk her somehow walking in on this conversation. “I did, but I wasn't completely caught by surprise. Levi lent me a book that made me start to wonder…” He glances over at the older man. “Wait, how did you know I needed the book?”

"Items soaked in magic tend to have a bit of a mind of their own. It must have sensed you had a use for it, so it manifested itself where you would find it. I just stuck my business card in because I knew you’d have questions.”

“A book?” Jean asks, his sharp brow furrowed. “A book was all it took?”

“You’ve left me with a lot of questions. I was surprised that a book like that could give me the answers.”

“I’m sorry for not saying anything Marco, but I didn’t want to risk the Hunters finding you. Hell, I didn’t think you’d believe me.” Jean picks at one of the bandages on his arm, fidgeting under their attention. Levi reaches over to flick at his ear to make him stop.

“Jean, I believed you for years that Levi was a witch with all-seeing eyes. I would have believed you.” Suddenly they both turn to glance over at Levi. “Wait…”

Levi groans and shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking his head at their nervous looks. “I’m not all seeing, but Jean has always been very in tune with his instincts. I’m actually impressed he could sense my magic, even if he didn’t know what it was.” The short man sits on the side of the bed, glaring down at the bandages covering Jean’s injury. “Honestly, I owe you an apology. Had I realized earlier, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I had a feeling from the day I met you brats that Jean was a werewolf. He was just so damn territorial of you, if reminded me of some of the other wolves I had known. I wasn’t certain until the Kirsteins left the way they did. Had I known that you were supernatural and, more importantly, didn’t have a guide to help you, I wouldn’t have waited so long.”

“Ma taught me everything I needed,” Jean argues. His shoulders hunch defensively, as if trying to make himself appear bigger. He's always been protective of his mother, ready to fight at the slightest insult. Over all these years, that hasn't changed.

“But your father didn’t.”

Jean falls silent.

“Your father told you mother all the things to fear, but he never told her where to find support. Lone wolves are the ones the Hunters kill, Jean.”

“So you're saying that we could have stayed?” Marco hates the way that Jean’s voice breaks as he asks the question, thoughts of the life he could have kept haunting him.

“If I had known you needed help, I would have provided,” Levi answers. His eyes seem even darker than usual. Somehow, in this moment, Levi looks so very old and tired, though his body hasn't seemed to age much at all since they were kids. “I have protective wards in place all over this town. The Hunters wouldn’t have been able to hurt you, had you stayed within my range. Even if you wanted to leave, I could have introduced you to other weres or witches to look out for you.”

“Dad left us because he thought it was safer,” Jean mumbles, staring down at his hands. “When he said that Hunters were lingering at the next town, he was so sure that we should leave. He even distracted the Hunters, led them in the wrong direction so we could get across the country. We haven’t heard from him since.”

Marco crawls into bed so he can pull Jean into his arms. Jean just leans his head on his shoulder, trying his best not to cry. Marco raises his hand to cup Jean's head closer to him, curving his fingers in a way so that even if he does cry, his tears would be hidden.

Levi looks at them with solemn eyes. “I am truly sorry that your father never had a support system. But I can promise you that you will always have one, as long as you ask.”

Jean’s voice is soft as he whispers, “Thanks, Levi.” The older man nods, letting him absorb his words.

“I should get going. Annie said that Hitch would take your shift tonight Marco, but you’re going to owe her. Whatever that means.”

Marco nods, glad that he can stay with Jean when he’s feeling so vulnerable. He’ll take Hitch’s Saturday shifts as often as she wants if it means he doesn’t have to leave Jean’s side right now. And he’s definitely going to find a way to thank Annie for all she’s done, even though she didn’t ask for repayment.

It’s quiet between them as Levi gently shuts the door. They just sit in silence for a long time, absorbing in all the life altering news they've had lately.

Finally, Marco runs his fingers through his friend's hair as he asks, “Do you remember last night, Jean?”

“Bits and pieces.” Jean tucks his head against Marco’s neck. “I didn’t scare you when I shifted, did I?”

“A little,” Marco answers truthfully. “But I was mostly scared because you were dying and thrashing in pain. You didn’t hurt anyone.” He runs his fingers gently over the bandage around the bullet wound, thinking of the brief glimpse of wolf ears he had seen. “I bet you’re a pretty wolf when you’re fully shifted.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jean snorts, his breath tickling against Marco's skin, “It’s not like anyone but my ma has seen me and I could be the ugliest thing on the planet and she would still say I was the apple of her eye.”

“Levi said he could help find her. He can help us keep her safe and then you wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

"I’d like that,” Jean answers quietly. His fingers dance against Marco's chest, as if reminding himself that he's there. “But you should know, I haven’t been alone since I found you again.”

Marco cuddles a little closer. “Me too.” As he looks down, he finds his eyes drawn to Jean’s tattoo. “Hey, Jean… Is this for me?” He drags his finger across one of the constellations, following the line where the stars meet.

He hears a snort and catches the tiniest of grins on Jean’s face. “You really don’t know anything about stars, do you? That’s Taurus, for ma. Her birthday’s in May.” He covers Marco’s hand with his own, dragging it toward the constellation on the opposite side of the moon. “This one’s for you. Gemini, for June sixteenth.” Jean gives him a quick little grin that makes those butterflies dance in his stomach again.

Marco follows the shape of the constellation with his finger, back and forth from one line to another. Jean just watches the movement, leaning back against his shoulder again.

“I’m glad you came back.”

At least this time Jean doesn’t argue that he’s dangerous to be around. But Marco can still feel him pull away from his touch. “Marco, I need to tell you something.”

“What’s wrong?” 

Jean blushes, his face glowing a soft pink as he averts his eyes. “I wanted to ignore it, but I don’t know if I can. People keep calling me your boyfriend and…”

“It makes you uncomfortable,” Marco interjects. Really, he doesn’t need Jean to say anything. He’s seen the frowns that have adorned his face after every tease.

“I want it to be true.”

Marco nearly smacks their heads together with how quickly he turns to stare at Jean. “What?”

“Marco, I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen.” Jean tilts his head away, staring down resolutely to stare at where Marco’s still tracing his tattoo. “I started falling for you the year before everything went to shit. When I had to leave, I cried like a fucking baby every night because I hated never getting to see you again. Every day I’ve thought about you, dreaming of the day I’d come back. I know I’m just your best friend and that’s all I’ll ever be and I’m so grateful that we’re friends again, but I need you to know that I stayed away because I love you, as a crush, as a friend, as a wonderful, amazing person. I only came back because I was weak, and I wanted a taste of something familiar. When I saw you in the diner, I never meant to come back, but I just couldn’t stay away anymore. I just needed to see you, even if only for a few minutes.”

“Jean…”

“I’m sorry, Marco.” Jean's still not looking at him, but the nervous timbre of his voice breaks his heart.

Marco gently tilts Jean’s head so that they can stare eye to eye. “You don’t need to apologize. You did what you thought you had to. Even though it hurt, I don’t blame you for leaving. I’m just glad you came back. I missed you every day." Marco bites his lip, nervous to add, "I didn’t realize until you were gone just what kind of feelings I had for you. I love you too, Jean.”

Golden eyes stare up at him, wide with surprise. “Wait, why?”

“Jean, I’ve known you since I was three. You really want me to list all the reasons why I love you? It might take a while.”

“You love me… Seriously?”

Marco rubs his thumb along Jean’s cheek, savoring the contact between him. His more minor cuts and gashes are healing nicely, a sure sign that the silver is working its way out of his bloodstream. 

“I don’t think I could ever love someone else the way I love you.”

Jean’s face warms like a furnace in his hands and Marco smiles. Jean look so cute like that, his cheeks glowing pink as his golden eyes flit between glancing at Marco's eyes and his mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Jean's mouth curves into a soft little grin he gets as he asks, like he's overjoyed by the chance to even say the words. 

Now it’s Marco’s turn to blush, overwhelmed by just how happy he feels. “Yeah.” The word barely leaves his mouth before Jean’s lips are brushing his, a barely there touch as if the mirage would break with any more pressure. Before Jean can pull away, Marco pulls him back in for a longer kiss.

In all his daydreams, he never imagined just how soft the other’s lips would feel on his, how his heart seemed to melt at the contact, how Jean’s hand in his hair would raise goosebumps up his neck. It’s more than he ever hoped for, holding Jean here in his arms as they kiss.

He can hear the door creak open before quickly shutting again, but before Marco can say anything, Jean pulls him back in to nip at his lower lip. The electricity down his spine is addictive, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Jean for the rest of his life. Jean must have the same idea, because he twists to sit in his lap and pull them even closer, only to groan in pain.

“Jean, you’ll open your wound back up!” Marco chastises, leaning back to get a better look at his bandages. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be any new bleeding.

“I’m fine,” Jean grumbles, embarrassed. “I was just hoping to make up for lost time.”

“We’re going to have all the time in the world,” Marco promises. “I’m not letting you go again, you know.”

“Oh, you won’t, will you?” The playful curve to Jean’s lips is the best sight that Marco’s seen in a long time. There's a bright glee in his eyes that Marco knows are reflected in his own. Jean looks happier than he has since they were reunited and Marco hopes that smile will grace his favorite face more and more.

“I’ll follow wherever you go, I hope you know that,” he teases. 

Jean's hand finds his, tucking their pinky fingers together. "You promise?”

Marco squeezes his finger closed around Jean's calloused one. Their hands have changed a lot in the years since their last pinky promise as kids, but the action seems like the perfect choice. Jean's the only one he ever trusted enough to pinky promise, after all. “I promise. I’ll always be there right behind you, offering you help you don’t want.”

“How about right beside me? Offering me help I’ll learn to take.”

“Even better.” This time, Marco leans in for the kiss, his heart dancing in his chest as Jean hums and kisses him back.

Tomorrow, they’ll talk to Levi about tracking down Mrs. Kirsten and start planning how to tell his own mom about Jean. Soon, they’ll research the local tattoo shops and look for an apprenticeship for Jean.

One day, they’ll get that apartment together and live happily ever after.

But for now, they’re more than content to kiss and enjoy the moment.


End file.
